


now i live in shadows

by HiBlue



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, It's sadboi hours y'all, Mentioned ConnorEatsPants, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks, Resentment, Revived Tommyinnit, Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), The Void, TommyInnit Needs a Break (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), the void is legitimately terrifying and more people need to talk about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 15:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30023934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiBlue/pseuds/HiBlue
Summary: Tommy had a lot of time to think in the void. He’d already mentally written How to Sex 3 three times over in different fonts. In general, he tried his very hardest not to think about the fact he was beat to a pulp with a damn potato.He failed.And it was entirely, entirely Wilbur's fault.Otherwise: Tommy's alive, but honestly? That's debatable.
Relationships: TommyInnit & Dream, Tubbo & Tommyinnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 2
Kudos: 92





	now i live in shadows

Tommy had a lot of time to think in the void. Him and his mind, they became  _ right pals _ , they did. It was like exile all over again, if exile was just pure, unadulterated shit. Just a constant stream of poo, and not a single Prime. No, no. No Primes. Just him, his mind, and sometimes Wilbur in peak dickhead form. 

  


So he’d be sitting there thinking about Big Man Shit. He’d mentally written How to Sex 3 three times over (each time with slightly different fonts) and in general tried his very hardest not to think about the fact he was beat to a pulp with a fucking potato. 

  


He failed. 

  


And it was entirely,  _ entirely  _ because of Wilbur. As much as Tommy would like to say that nothing Wilbur said got to him, that Tommy steamrolled through Wilbur’s steaming hot shit and didn’t crack like a fucking egg over and over and over and over—

  


Things always come in circles, you know? At some point Tommy decided to make a little box for Death, clean and neat in his mind. Just for himself. 

  


The rules for thinking about death were simple: it was shit, it hurt, and it was best left alone to rot. 

  


But then Wilbur had to come along smiling about how  _ great  _ it was that he died and that Tommy was shit for the server, he and Tommy were. That it was all their fault, that the server plunged into hell and never really came back. 

  


So back Tommy had to go to that little box to deal with Death because Wilbur ripped that box open with those words and it  _ hurt _ . 

  


He told Death about how he had left behind the Big Innit Hotel in the hands of Jack Manifold, of all people. How Sam Nook was probably still waiting for him there, how Tubbo probably was wondering why he hadn’t heard back about the grand opening. 

  


It wasn’t a good thing that Tommy had died, he told Death. It wasn’t, it wasn’t, it was the worst fucking possible thing that could have happened because that wasn’t how the story was supposed to go, him and Tubbo against Dream and shut the fuck  _ up  _ Wilbur—

  


Then he came back to life, in a body that didn’t feel like it belonged to him at all.

* * *

Dream didn’t understand, could never understand in a way that mattered. For once, Tommy knew something Dream didn’t and it was utterly useless  _ because  _ Dream  _ could not understand. _

  


Dream asked what Death was like, but he didn’t truly care to know Death. What he wanted was what he had already taken with no regard from Tommy, and yet he still wanted more. Dream wanted Death without free of its consequences, and once more this story wrapped its noose tight around Tommy’s neck. 

  


Dream had to die, and Tommy had to kill him.

  


Dream had to die, and Tommy couldn’t kill him. 

* * *

He left the prison on a Friday, one whole week after he had been revived. 

  


It was strange, breathing air that didn’t smell like old blood and stale potatoes. Breathing itself was a novelty—existing in this fucking broken freakshow body was a damn novelty, and apparently every fucking dickhead on the server thought it was too. 

  


Why are you alive? And fuck you too, Jack. 

  


How’d you come back to life? A fucking book, Jack. 

  


This is why you deserved to die. And fuck you, fuck you,  _ fuck you, Jack.  _

  


Everyone’s already moved on and left with their hotels and new best friends, and here Tommy was once again. Stuck in the middle of things, and this time really absolutely no one is on your side, you  _ absolute fool, Tommy.  _

  


Tubbo had said it was the second time Tommy had left him. That  _ Tommy  _ had left  _ him.  _ It’s not leaving if you don’t have a choice, Tommy wanted to scream. It’s not fucking leaving when you’re trying so goddamn hard to come back and, and, and

  


Ranboo was there, and he asked how Tommy was. And Tubbo  _ leapt  _ to his side, like being near Tommy was bad and Ranboo was safe, and that was another new thing. 

  


Ranboo handed him a flower for condolences, you know? Goodbye, Tommy, it was sad that you died but move along now. 

  


Tommy burned that shit flower into ashes right in front that stupid best-friend-stealer’s face, ground the remains under his heel. 

  


“Thanks,” Tommy said. 

  


“You’re welcome,” Ranboo replied, with Tubbo standing close by his side. 

  


And somehow it was Tommy who was the one that left. 

* * *

Technoblade talked about death like it was some kind of Judgement Day, as if a bunch of pricks would sit around and score you dying on based on its  _ allegorical significance _ . He’d probably write a poem with how happy he would be if he found out Tommy died by raw tater. 

  


Technoblade had also told him to go die like a hero, and Tommy thought that about told you just how little Technoblade knew about Death. 

  


Wilbur treated his death like it was a divine blessing, as if everyone he had left behind was somehow purified, purged of evil. As if Wilbur dying hadn’t ripped Tommy’s world to shreds. As if Death was any kind of resting place and that Tommy should be grateful for it. 

  


Wilbur was a fucking wanker. Wilbur didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself. Wilbur hadn’t been his brother in a very, very long time. 

  


Tubbo had been so eager to die that day, was willing to die  _ for  _ Tommy and that wasn’t okay. Because Tommy was nothing if Tubbo wasn’t there, and no, Tommy couldn’t bring himself to throw his neck at Dream’s blade and plead for mercy, but Tubbo  _ couldn’t die.  _

  


Tubbo didn’t need Tommy anymore, and that was okay. No, it actually was not okay, but it was a rule of this world, that nothing he loved stayed.

  


Now Tommy was sitting on  _ his _ bed in  _ his  _ house (fuck off, Connor) and for a second the darkness in the room felt like a threat. It was closing in and for a second he couldn’t feel his fingers or his toes and he couldn’t  _ see.  _

  


Here’s something about the void. 

  


Your mind is always reaching out for something that simply isn’t  _ there.  _ You have no body, no limbs, nothing but your consciousness floating in some inconceivably barren space. It knows on the surface level, that there is nothing there. 

  


But on the most basic level, your mind can’t make sense of the nothingness, and so it reaches out with phantom nerves to the void. Over and over again, until the images in your mind meld into your senses and you can trick your mind into thinking you can see. 

  


That’s why it always took hours for Wilbur to set up his stupid solitaire games, even though his consciousness had already been in the void for years. 

  


The void took and took and  _ took.  _

  


Tommy bit down hard on his tongue, let the pain run little shockwaves through his body and the blood fill his mouth.  The lamps in his room were still lit. The air smelled like wet grass and roses. He could hear Connor snoring faintly from outside. 

  


Tommy got up and lit a few more torches. 

**Author's Note:**

> tommy really said i will make my self insert OC Feel Pain and i respect that. unrelated: I am sad. I also want to explore the aftereffects of the Void because that shit's dark, my dudes. 
> 
> i hope y'all like it (if not I'll just have to take the L) also please comment i will cry.


End file.
